Pain
by DixieMame
Summary: 88 of the 100 Choices challenge. Greece's economic downfall has shattered more than his pride. But wounds can heal with help.


_My first Hetalia fanfic! Hopefully there will be more to come in the future. And for those of you who need timelines, this takes place in modern times, 2010._

* * *

It was a hot day, and the sun decided not to show any mercy as it beat down upon the Earth. Hercules laid in the dirt, and occasionally he would stick a hand deep down in the soil, trying to dig out what was cool under the ground, and slap it on his forehead. It could have worked if he was only dealing with the sun's heat, but it was doing nothing for his raging fever, the coughs vibrating throughout his body, and the remains of burns on his hands. When the economy suffers, so does the nation, and Greece was bankrupt. If that hadn't been enough, riots over how the government was trying to fix the problems had wrecked his systems further, and although he had tried to stop them, all he could accomplish was getting himself hurt worse.

After the latest dirt treatment didn't work, he let out a pitiful groan, and opened his eyes. He slowly slid them to a side, catching site of what he had been able to dig up just years before, still poking out of the ground. A strange comfort, the monuments and old art covered in dirt and mud, what some would deem 'junk' but to him were treasures. His mother's treasures.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked upward – to find a figure standing over him, casting a shadow over his face. Taking a few blinks, as dirt flickered off his eyelashes, he struggled to focus his vision on who his visitor was. Alas, vision blurred, and his mind went hazy. Putting strength into his hands, he tried to sit up, and, in the briefest of seconds, he saw her. Impossible, but yes, her. His mother. Couldn't be, but there she was. Eyes widened in disbelief, but, there she was, had to be, and he desperately grabbed for her. Ignoring the startled cry that came out of her, he dragged her down on top of him, and buried his face into her chest.

"Mother." His voice was horse, cracking. The grip on her was weak, but he refused to let go. He wouldn't lose her again, and his body shook at the very idea. She seemed to struggle for a moment, then quietly gave up, and allowed Hercules to do as he pleased. He could hear her soft breathing, not saying a word, and feel the steady rhythm of her beating heart. He shut his eyes tightly, and could feel them beginning to wet. Shameful, but unavoidable. To have her see him like this... weak, and pathetic. The shame was almost too much to bare.

"I'm sorry." He made himself speak, even though it was painful. He had to speak, had to make her understand. "I never... meant for this to happen. I just... just wanted them to be happy. Didn't want them.. to worry over taxes." Deep, shuddering breathes. He had always been so casual when it came to money. Spent as much as his people wanted, if it made them happy. It seemed as if money would never run out, and everyone could relax, could be happy, for eternity. Yet as his mother's reign had once ended, so had the time of economic freedom. Now rules were needed, rules he wasn't used to making. Now no one was happy.

He felt his fingers slide on his clothes, losing their tight hold on her. His fever was spiking, demanding him to fall to unconsciousness. Fighting it as best he could, he pressed his face deeper into her, perhaps for the first time in his life refusing to sleep. She had to hear. "I'm sorry... I just wanted to make you... proud. Didn't want to stop... looking for you. Had to make you see how happy... I made everyone. But... But it's all... ruined..." Hot tears rolled down his face, staining her clothes. How pathetic he must have looked, how she must regret having such a terrible son. "I'm sorry... for disappointing you... Mother... I love you... I just... I just..."

A cough came, loud, hacking, painful. His lungs felt they were on fire, and his body became an earthquake, reluctantly letting her go, and falling to the ground, head throbbing once it landed. What a sight he must have been, covered in dirt and tears. A once proud nation, reduced to this. He wanted to be swallowed up by this self-loathing, have it devour him and leave nothing left, so his mother wouldn't have to look at this creature anymore. Teeth clenched as pain swam through him, and he wouldn't look at her. Wouldn't try to push anymore shame onto her. How could he do this to his sweet, wonderful mother? He lay there, waiting to hear the footsteps of her leaving.

Yet there were no footsteps. No sounds other than his own sobs, and the occasional mew of a cat far off. But there was movement, and the shadow over him left. Fingers ran through his hair,then lifted his head, only to rest it on a much softer place. He could feel cloth and legs... a lap. His head had been placed in her lap. The fingers ran through again, and again, stroking him with the tender touch of love. The other hand was used to brush dirt off of his face, then slowly wipe away his tears. A pause in touch, and then the fingers mixed dirt and tears together, making mud. The fingers drifted across his cheeks, two at a time, reaching his nose. Little mud whiskers.

"It's all right." Her voice came in an unfamiliar whisper, and she hunched over, her shadow coming over his face again. "You did your best. That's... all anyone can ask for. You will make it. You will rise." She paused in her petting, and then settled for holding his head close to her. He tried to open his eyes to see her face, but tears blurred his sight. Despite that... could that have been a smile aimed down at him? Eyes full of respect? Pride? Love?

He sucked in a breath, losing the war against more sobs, and turned his face more towards her. He pulled up his body, trying to hug her waist. He breathed into her hips, unable to understand her compassion. But he wouldn't question it, couldn't now, he needed this. He was losing to another fight, as his fever drained strength to try and submit him to sleep. "Mother." But, please, let him be awake, just a little more, hear just a few more words, let her know, let him know...

"I love you, Hercules."

Relief flooded, and he surrendered. His breath became slightly more steady, and familiar snoring followed the often quiet cough. His hair continued to be pet, and even though he couldn't have heard him, the same four words were repeated over and over, a mantra that everything would be all right, and Greece would rise again, stronger than before. Perhaps with a little help.

If the reader cares to remember the singular mew from before, they might like to know it was a female, with pale sandy fur, that had been making its way to the couple ever since it had been mentioned. She had come over to be pet as well, yet as she rubbed herself up against one offering free pets, she wouldn't get any of her own. What an odd let-down. Usually Honda Kiku couldn't resist to touch a cat.


End file.
